Silas Wantage, having recovered his wind by this time, picked himself up, holding his handkerchief to his flowing nose, and offered thickly to mill Mr Ravenscar down, if it took him all the morning to do it.
“No, no, go away and put a key down your back!” commanded Miss Grantham, shuddering. “If you have anything to say to me, sir, say it, and then go, and never let me see you again!”
Mr Ravenscar, still grasping her wrist, opened the door of the little parlour on the half-landing, and drew her inside. He then released her, and said: “I have come to beg your pardon, Miss Grantham.”
She looked disdainfully at him. “You need not have been to so much trouble, I assure you. Your opinion of my character is a matter of the supremest indifference to me.”
“There is no excuse for me. If I had not been crazy with jealousy I should never have said what I did to you. I love you!”
“No doubt I should be flattered, but as I can scarcely conceive of a worse fate than to be married to you, this declaration fills me with repugnance!”
He bit his lip. “Forgive me!”
“I shall never forgive you as long as I live! If you have now said what you came to say, pray leave me!”
“I tell you I love you!” said Mr Ravenscar, taking a step towards her.
“If you dare to touch me again I shall scream!” announced Miss Grantham. “I do not know whether you are asking me to marry you, or merely to become your mistress, but whichever it is—”